


Hypothetically: Potion

by JenNova



Series: Famous Last Words [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Future Fic, M/M, Rimming, bottom!Derek, potion made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Potion,” Stiles says, his eyes clearing as he focuses on Derek. “In a cup.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothetically: Potion

**Author's Note:**

> OH LOOK IT'S LONGER AGAIN. One more part to go.
> 
> And more thanks go out to the people commenting. I hope to get around to responding to you all eventually - I'm just terrible at it sometimes. One of my many issues. Every single one puts a spring into my step, let me assure you.
> 
> See bottom notes for Dub Con description. Also there is some minor peril re: children. Once again a full note for that is at the bottom, in case that is something that is triggery for you.

Stiles doesn't think he imagines the slight tension when he moves back to Beacon Hills for good. It's like he's waiting for something, or everyone else is, and he doesn't know what it is. The pack helps him move into his new apartment – he's 23, dammit, he _can't_ live with his Dad anymore – and he can feel it around him and between them.

When it's just him and Derek left at the end of the move he realises what it was. Pack hierarchy. He hasn't been permanently in place for so long that the pack doesn't quite know where he fits in. He's never really thought about it himself, just taken strength from the knowledge that he _is_ pack. Everyone defers to him except for Boyd (and Danny, but that's because Danny knows the way Stiles thinks). Derek is just Derek, he watches and waits for it to settle down. Stiles knows he'll step in if things don't work themselves out.

The tension eases after a few weeks, around about the time he starts making regular Sunday breakfasts at the Hale house. Erica makes Mom jokes because her sense of humour hasn't changed since high school and Stiles sort of loves that about her. Derek makes the breakfasts mandatory and Stiles really doesn't know how to deal with the softness in Derek's face every Sunday. Isaac always leaves early because he has the Sunday shift at the auto shop (who knew he'd have a gift for being a mechanic buried in all that attitude?) and Scott goes with him because he still helps at the clinic on Sundays before going back down to UC Davis.

Allison helps Stiles clean up afterwards, hipchecking him away from the sink when he tries to start the dishes. Boyd eats the most extraordinary servings of pancakes that Stiles has _ever_ seen (and he and Scott could put away an impressive amount of them _before_ the bite). Indira and Sean make sure the kids eat first; Terri makes _more_ of a mess than she should for her age and Navin makes _less_ of a mess than he should for his age. Stiles likes them a hell of a lot and the kids love him, which was obviously always going to happen because he's awesome.

Danny sits at one end of the table, laptop perched beside him, always in the middle of coding with a fork half way to his mouth. Stiles does his best to make sure Danny eats at least some of his breakfast, because he's always going to have residual feelings for Danny and he worries about him sometimes. There's always a space left for Stiles next to Derek and he doesn't quite know what that means but he likes it, likes all of this.

Sunday afternoons are for Stiles and Derek – everyone else clears out. Allison packs the car she shares with Scott and goes to hang out at the clinic with him. Boyd drags Danny out into the Preserve for mandatory exercise – they came back from NYU super tight and Boyd shares Stiles' concerns about Danny spending too much time buried in code. The Millars have something planned to entertain the kids; craft fairs, actual fairs, picnics – anything that'll exhaust them basically. Erica spends time with her Mom and Dad, helping out around the house, she always comes home flushed with happiness.

Stiles and Derek end up in Derek's study-cum-office; Derek manages his finances from the ageing laptop on his desk (he's a smart investor – which explains why he still doesn't have a job) while Stiles curls his feet under him in the overstuffed armchair he loves and goes through FMC e-mails. It's nice, just being with Derek, and Stiles thinks he could become a little addicted to Derek's quiet snorts and huffs at his computer screen. It's the most normal they ever get – this little pocket of calm in the middle of everything – and Stiles hadn't realised how much he needed it.

When Derek finishes up he throws himself onto the couch, that's not even big enough for him to fit on so his legs always hang over one arm, and waits for Stiles to get bored and put on whatever show they're watching. They've been watching Star Trek, right from the original series, for a few months. Derek has a habit of falling asleep after a few episodes. It's not because he's bored, Stiles has known Derek's a giant secret geek for years, but because Sunday afternoons are one of the only times he feels free to sleep hard and deep. Stiles knows that's the hidden reason behind Boyd and Danny's runs – they're patrolling so that Derek will relax enough to sleep.

Stiles has known for a while that Derek thinks of Stiles as some sort of safe place. Derek had grudgingly admitted it some time after he started actually answering Stiles' questions back in high school. It's always done something weird to his insides – Derek putting that level of trust in him – and he tries not to examine the feeling too much. He has an idea that he's always on the verge of some big _revelation_ when it comes to Derek and a lot of the time he's too afraid to let himself look at it.

This – Derek, the pack, his _family_ (he's waiting for his Dad to tell him that he wants to marry Melissa, he's sure it's only a matter of time now) – it's too important to Stiles to let anything break it, hurt it. He won't do that. He _won't_.

That's normally the point, in his circular thinking, that he falls asleep. They invariably get woken by Terri and Navin quite literally jumping on them – announcing dinner in bright voices. Derek picks them both up and carries them under his arms and Stiles gets to see a brief flash of what Derek must've been like with his cousins before - _before_.

Before Stiles can even notice it the seasons run through a full cycle and he's been back in Beacon Hills for a year. Stiles tentatively dates a few people – Tom is funny, Samantha is ridiculously hot, Patrice is smart and sweet, Jon is cute – but realises he's still a little heartbroke over Kerri when no-one sticks. He was with her for something like two years and he knows, given his leftover feelings for Lydia, Danny and Alex, that he'll probably never really get over it.

He notices that Derek seems to be comfortable enough in his own skin to engage in some casual sex of his own and he honestly couldn't be happier for him. The guy obviously enjoys sex and it's good that he feels right enough in himself to go out and get some. Derek doesn't bring his dates back to the Hale house unless they're shifters like him – which Stiles gets, the pack is hard to explain to people outside of it – so Stiles only meets a few of them when he's passing by. Derek's taste turns out to be just about as varied as Stiles' – which is no more obvious than the time Stiles hears from Tom, who is a Beacon Hills native like him, that Derek picked him up in a bar.

“You've seriously never hit that?” Tom asks when they have lunch. They stayed friends because Tom owns a cleaning company FMC ended up contracting for their excellent No Questions Asked policy. They also have the contract for the Sheriff's Department – that's how Stiles met him.

“Derek?” Stiles asks. “Nah, I couldn't. He's a friend.”

Which is a lot easier than explaining the buddy system to an outsider. _A lot._

“If he was my friend I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself,” Tom shakes his head. His eyes glaze over a little. “He's sort of – intense.”

“Are you seeing him again?” Stiles asks, hoping he sounds like an interested friend and not someone that knows just how intense Derek gets during sex. Tom shakes his head.

“No,” he says, tapping his plate with his fork. “Don't get me wrong – the sex was _really_ great. But I think that kind of intensity would be hard to deal with all the time. Focused on you.”

“He's a pretty intense guy, yeah,” Stiles says. He likes that about Derek – that underneath the scowling and grumpiness there had always been someone intense and surprisingly thoughtful. You know. When he wasn't fighting for his right to survive and being a dick. “He's been through a lot.”

“Yeah, that too,” Tom says, moving to clarify when Stiles levels a look at him. “I know he's your friend – that's why you know better than anyone how much baggage he's carrying. One day he'll find someone who can help him shoulder it. That person is not me.”

“Hey, come on,” Stiles says, raising his hands. “You don't have to defend yourself, dude. It's not like I'm going to threaten you with a baseball bat for hurting him.”

“Just didn't want you to think I was leading him on, or anything,” Tom waves a hand. “We were both pretty clear going in that it was a one time thing.”

“I'm pretty sure he's not crying himself to sleep at night over you,” Stiles says, spreading a smile across his face. Tom shoots him a look of mock affront.

“Not even a single glistening tear of sadness?” Tom asks, raising his eyebrows. “I'm hurt. Truly.”

Stiles laughs and finishes his lunch. Tom looks at him thoughtfully when he finishes and Stiles raises an eyebrow at him.

“Derek's lucky to have you, you know,” Tom says at last. “You're a good friend. Looking out for him.”

“I've known him forever,” Stiles says with a shrug. _Eight years, give or take._ “It's second nature.”

Summer rolls in with a few heavy thunderstorms and the long awaited permanent return of Lydia and Jackson. Lydia punches Stiles on the arm, hard - when he picks them up from Beacon Hills International - for suggesting the storms are omens. Jackson and Lydia aren't together anymore – something they'd refrained from telling anyone, even Danny – and folding them back into the pack is incredibly strange.

Jackson has levelled out finally and Stiles gets the impression that he actually _apologises_ to Derek when he gets back. Lydia has a shiny new doctorate in math and is apparently in the midst of constructing a theorem of some kind that's going to blow the field wide open. Most of it goes over Stiles' head because even though he's pretty smart himself Lydia is talking about math at a prodigy level. Indira gets it, though, and Lydia is delighted to have someone to proof her progress.

Something seems to settle inside Derek now that Lydia and Jackson are back and the sense of happiness rolling off the pack would probably sicken Stiles if they weren't his. Beacon Hills is stable, but for the occasional rogue, and most of Stiles' consultancy work is done over the internet. It feels like they can all finally stop holding their breath. Derek smiles, a lot, and Stiles' chest squeezes _every time_ he sees it.

Summer also brings an engagement – Stiles' Dad and Scott's Mom – and Stiles maybe gets a bit teary-eyed about it but his Dad is the only one who sees so that's okay. It looks like the next year is going to full of weddings – Scott and Allison finally set a date, a month after he's due to graduate from Vet school, and Erica and Boyd seem ready to settle too, Boyd's taking over his Dad's painter/decorator business and Erica's talking about putting her business degree to use in helping him.

In celebration they throw a massive barbecue at the house. Stiles and Derek end up running the grills for what seems like hours, preparing food for the whole pack and all the various families. There's over twenty-five people with all sorts of dietary requirements and Stiles is in his element. He catches Derek watching him a few times and he smiles at him sort of helplessly, full up with some kind of emotion he really can't describe. It's something like _home_. From the look on Derek's face he figures Derek's in the same boat as him.

Derek's original three betas, Stiles still thinks of them as the Leather Pack some days, insist on handling the clean up and he and Stiles are pushed out of the way. Stiles talks to his Dad and Melissa for a while, smiling every time he sees the way his Dad curls a hand around her waist. Mr Mahealani calls him over to adjudicate a heated baseball discussion with Mr Boyd and they end up arguing stats for nearly an hour. At least half of that may or may not be taken up with Stiles evangelising about the Mets – he can neither confirm or deny.

Day turns to night and Stiles finds himself sitting on a log next to Derek. He's long since stopped analysing why he gravitates to Derek's side so instead he stretches his legs out in front of him and tilts his head back to look at the stars. Derek's a warm, steady presence beside him and Stiles is content not to talk and just soak it up.

“Do you know the constellations?” Derek asks, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the laughter of the kids.

“Me and Scott had a thing about astronomy when we were kids,” Stiles says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn't have the focus to learn much. Scott got bored.”

“Canis Major was my favourite,” Derek says simply, like talking about before the fire is something he does all the time. Stiles realises he's holding his breath and lets it out.

“I am so completely unsurprised by that that there are no adequate words to express my lack of surprise,” Stiles says, looking across to find Derek making a face at him. He pulls one back. “Seriously. This right here? My unsurprised face.”

“That's your 'being an asshole' face,” Derek shoots back and Stiles can't stop the smile the ripples over his mouth.

“I bet Sirius is your favourite star,” Stiles says, pressing advantage. “The Alpha of it's constellation.”

“You're not funny,” Derek says, huffing out a breath. Stiles can see the lie in the slight upward twitch of Derek's lips.

“Lies,” Stiles says, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Derek's. “You think I'm hilarious.”

“You can't see it until it's nearly dawn in the summer,” Derek says, ignoring him. “Sometimes I used to stay up all night just to see it.”

Stiles doesn't point out that it was probably easier to just get up early. To be honest sometimes teenage Derek sounds a lot like teenage Stiles – both working on a warped sense of logic. Stiles idly wonders if they would've been friends if they were at school at the same time. Would Stiles have figured out Derek was a werewolf? Probably. If only because he figured out Remus Lupin was a werewolf long before it was revealed in Harry Potter. His brain is good at making connections like that.

“Lupin or Sirius?” tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Derek gives him a long, blank look – the kind Stiles hated when he was younger, but can now read as Derek's poker face.

“Lupin,” Derek says, turning his head to look up at the stars again.

“Huh,” Stiles says, rubbing his fingers through his hair. “I actually would've thought Sirius. The whole bad boy thing.”

“I wasn't always like this,” Derek says, a quiet reminder that he probably read the books as they were published. Another thing from _before_.

“Bet there were days you wished that Wolfsbane Potion was real,” Stiles says. “When you first started shifting.”

“I can think of a few occasions,” Derek says dryly. Stiles sort of wants to know about that, he wants to know about _everything_ , but he doesn't push for once.

“What do you think you would be Sorted as?” Stiles asks, sparing a thought for the sixteen year-old Stiles that wouldn't believe this conversation if Stiles recorded it and played it back for him. “No, wait, let me do it. Hufflepuff.”

Derek lets out a laugh and turns his real smile on Stiles. Stiles reflects it back to him and doesn't at all mention that he'd Sorted the whole pack multiple times during supernatural stake-outs over the years.

“Yeah,” Derek admits, ducking his head. “And you're a complete Hatstall.”

“Not gonna lie,” Stiles says, mouth gaping a little. “I'm a little in love with the fact that you're geeky enough to know that word.”

“It's true though,” Derek says around his shark's grin. “Every time I think I have your house pinned down you do something that's the complete opposite.”

“No one house can hold Stiles Stilinski, it's true,” Stiles says. “Every time I do some kind of online Sorting thing I always get a different house. I'm an enigma.”

He wiggles his fingers and Derek laughs again, the sound of it warming Stiles through. They spend a good half hour Sorting the pack, sometimes arguing their choices through, and when Stiles looks up the party is winding down. Terri and Navin come to say goodnight and Stiles presses a kiss each to their curly hair before getting up to say goodbye to his Dad and Melissa. After that there's a flurry of goodbyes and cars leaving until it's just Derek and Stiles standing on the porch.

Stiles is staying the night at the house and on the spur of the moment touches a hand to Derek's elbow when he's following him inside. Derek pauses and half turns toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“Want to stay up and look for Sirius?” Stiles asks. Derek holds still for what seems like an eternity before nodding.

They go up to the attic and then climb out onto the roof, Derek steadying Stiles when he makes the brief mistake of looking down and his stomach swoops at the height. There's a flat section by the chimney and Derek tucks Stiles in between himself and said chimney. Stiles rolls his eyes at him but gives in.

Derek starts talking after a little while. He talks and talks – the most Stiles has ever heard him talk, actually, and Stiles has always known Derek wasn't as taciturn as he made himself out to be – and Stiles lets it wash over him. He listens, knowing that's all Derek wants from him, until Derek goes hoarse and quiet. He picks up the thread and talks about his Mom for a little while before following several tangents that bring him right back to Sirius, the Dog Star.

“You know they named the dog days of summer after Sirius?” Stiles says as the sky starts to lighten. “In Ancient times Sirius appearing in the sky basically heralded the hottest days of summer. That's what the expression means.”

“For the Egyptians it meant the Nile was going to flood,” Derek adds, turning his head unerringly toward where the star will rise.

Stiles sees a vivid image in his mind, of Derek as a kid climbing up onto the roof to pick out his favourite star. His heart aches for that kid so he rests an arm over Derek's shoulders and leans into his side. Derek tenses for a moment then relaxes under his touch, leans into it. It's perfect and peaceful and Stiles has a sensation of holding his breath again. This time he doesn't know what for.

It happens a few months later, their peaceful calm shattered on Stiles' day to take Navin and Terri so Indira and Sean can spend some alone time together. He takes them to the park after school so they can run around with human kids. Sean's keen on 'socialising' them – which to Stiles is just an excuse to go to the park and run around with them for a while. Stiles gets hit on by single parents and he flirts a little, just to keep in practise, while Terri and Navin play with their friends.

It happens when Stiles is buckling Navin into the back seat, awkwardly twisted through the door and wondering if he should finally retire his old girl and get a new car before the kids get any bigger. He's quizzing Terri, who can buckle herself in and is proud of that, on what sort of ice cream they should get on the way home when Navin makes a low growling sound of alarm. Stiles is about to admonish him when someone pulls him out of the car and hits him over the head.

It happens because Stiles is _incredibly_ pissed at himself for letting his guard down, for forgetting that they'll _never_ be completely safe. Not while clinically insane hunters like this one exist. Stiles thinks his name may be Jacob, he fits the description Chris had given him a few years ago of a rogue hunter reportedly moving up and down the west coast. Jacob rants about purifying the world – textbook fanatic speech – and Stiles quietly works his hands free of his ropes. No-one ever ties him up tight enough, assuming the human could never be as strong as the werewolves. Terri has Navin's face buried into her chest and she's staring at Stiles like she's willing him to do something. He's working on it.

It happens because Navin snarls when Jacob tries to pull him away from his sister and Stiles sees red. The sound gets him right down in his gut and before he knows it he's up and across the room, the knife given to him by the Bay pack buried to the hilt in Jacob's side. Jacob stares at him, eyes wide with surprise, and Stiles pushes him away and down.

“No-one ever expects the human to be armed,” Stiles spits, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands. It shouldn't matter – _it shouldn't matter at all_ – Stiles has killed before ( _Goddamn fucking merpeople_ ) but this is the first time he's killed a human.

Stiles pulls the knife out, wipes it perfunctorily, and slides it back into the sheathe strapped to his leg - all while avoiding Jacob's dead eyes. He lifts Navin into his arms, even though at the age of seven Navin's getting a bit old for it, and takes Terri's hand to lead them up the stairs and out of the basement. It's an abandoned house and Stiles finds his phone discarded on a busted table. He sits on the front step of the house and calls Derek, finding out that the cavalry is almost there, then waits with Terri's face buried in his neck.

Indira reaches him first, her arms going around him and both children in her haste to get to her family. She's muttering _thank you_ over and over again and Stiles just nods wordlessly. It's almost funny to him that this, out of all the things that have happened to him since Scott was bitten, is what sends him into shock. He knows it's shock because he's numb all over, shaking.

His Dad appears, of course, and squeezes his shoulder before heading into the house. Dad will smooth everything over with county – put it down as self-defence or something – and Stiles has never been more glad that his Dad knows.

Derek appears next to pull him away from the house, hands touching him all over in a way Stiles would reprimand him for if he weren't shaking so hard that he's afraid he's going to vibrate out of his skin. When Derek's satisfied that Stiles isn't hurt he pulls Stiles in tight against his chest and scents him. Stiles lets him, knowing the whole mess of reasons behind it, and fists his hands in the back of Derek's leather jacket, holding on.

“You killed for the pack,” Derek says later, much later, when he's settled Stiles in his apartment. Stiles nods slowly.

“I -” Derek stops, makes a frustrated noise. “You've never killed a human for us before.”

“First time for everything,” Stiles says and he thinks it might be the first time he's spoken in a few hours.

“I never wanted you to have to do that,” Derek says, gripping Stiles' hands between his. “I'm sorry.”

“He wanted to kill Navin and Terri,” Stiles says, shrugging woodenly. “Then all of you. Navin made this noise – when Jacob tried to take him away from Terri – I just. It hurt to hear it. I couldn't let him – I couldn't -”

Stiles thinks he might be crying, his cheeks feel wet and his voice peters out with a sob. Derek hauls him in against his side and runs his hand up and down Stiles' back until Stiles falls asleep from the effort of holding himself together. Derek's still there in the morning and that means something. Something Stiles isn't prepared to think about just yet – but will be soon, he thinks.

He applies for the English position that opens up at Beacon Hills High just before Christmas, needing more to do than FMC, and is genuinely surprised when he gets it. He even gets invited to the faculty Non-Denominational Holiday Party so he can get to know his fellow teachers before he starts after winter break.

–

Derek meets Scott at Stiles' apartment. He takes Stiles' keys and lets them in while Scott supports Stiles with an arm tight around his shoulders. The scent of arousal is shocking in Derek's nose, in a way it hasn't been since the first time. He takes a moment, breathing shallowly through his mouth, before closing the door and following them.

“What happened?” Derek asks, folding his arms and watching as Stiles shifts restlessly against Scott.

“I don't know,” Scott says, trying to stop Stiles from grinding against his side. “He called me and when I got there he was like this. Stiles!”

Stiles rolls his body against Scott and Scott pushes him down onto the couch, pulling Stiles' hands away from him. He's not embarrassed, Derek can tell, just completely resigned to Stiles' behaviour. Stiles' attention shifts to Derek and his gaze is hot. Derek unfolds his arms and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Potion,” Stiles says, his eyes clearing as he focuses on Derek. “In a cup.”

“ _Witches_ ,” Derek says, feeling a bass rumble building in his chest. “Fucking Morgan.”

“It wasn't,” Scott shakes his head. “The coven always smells like sandalwood and I couldn't smell anything like that. It was a weird sort of smell – like dead roses? I can't really explain it.”

“Would you know it if you smelled it again?” Derek asks. Scott nods. “Go and see if you can track anything down – get Isaac too, just in case.”

“Are you two going to be okay?” Scott asks, looking between Stiles and Derek.

“We'll find out,” Derek says, lifting his shoulders.

Scott leans down to squeeze Stiles' biceps and for a moment Stiles strains into his grip, tilting his head like he's going to kiss Scott. Something shivers deep inside of Derek at that – something primal and yearning – and he stamps it down.

“No,” Scott says, putting a hand over Stiles' face and pushing him away gently. “Believe me, dude, you do _not_ want to wake up with that in your memory.”

Stiles whines slightly and Derek's cock twitches in his jeans, which is a _great_ conditioned response to have. Derek sighs and walks over to drop onto the couch next to Stiles, letting Stiles move against him. Scott shoots him a grateful smile and Stiles tries to get his hands under Derek's shirt.

“I'll see you guys later,” Scott says. “After you've, you know,” he waves at them, “taken care of this.”

“Scott,” Stiles says, tearing his attention away from Derek. “Thanks, man.”

“Don't worry about it,” Scott says, shrugging. He flashes another smile at them and is gone.

Stiles instantly slides into Derek's lap, straddling him and framing his face with his hands. Derek holds his breath but Stiles doesn't do anything else, just looks at him. Derek feels exposed in the strangest way – it's like Stiles' lust fogged eyes are peeling him apart.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, resting his hands on Stiles' thighs. Stiles nods slowly.

“It comes and goes,” he says, his voice steady.

“Why did you call Scott?” Derek asks. The _instead of me_ is implied.

“Because I didn't think I'd be able to control myself if you showed up,” Stiles says, thumbs brushing back and forth over Derek's cheekbones.

“So you're still in there,” Derek asks, looking for the confirmation.

“Yeah,” Stiles takes a hand away and runs it through his hair. “Everything's okay up top. It's just – my body -”

He shudders suddenly and rolls his hips against Derek. Derek can feel the hot line of Stiles' cock briefly and the scent of arousal escalates. His hands flex instinctively on Stiles' thighs, holding him steady. Stiles gasps and rolls against him a few more times – when it leaves him he leans forward to press his forehead to Derek's.

“What do you need, Stiles?” Derek asks, sliding his hands up to Stiles' waist. Stiles sighs.

“I think I really need to fuck you,” Stiles says quietly. “I actually can't believe this is happening.”

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to,” Derek says. “There's probably an antidote.”

“Doesn't work like that,” Stiles shakes his head slowly, their foreheads brushing together. “Remember what I told you that first time?”

“Every coven does magic differently,” Derek says, digging up rusty memories.

“Which means even if Morgan and The Witches knew what I'd been dosed with,” Stiles says, taking long, quiet breaths. “They wouldn't be able to fix it.”

“Do you have to do it?” Derek asks. “Or do you think you can wait until Scott and Isaac find who did this?”

“I'm burning, Derek,” Stiles says. “Every time it hits me. I know the difference between having to do it, _needing it_ , and being able to hold out. I can't hold out.”

Stiles voice breaks on the last two words and Derek can't stop himself from tilting their mouths together and kissing Stiles. He can't have Stiles sounding like that. Stiles' mouth is slow against his, the kiss simmering and leisurely, and Derek feels it right down to the base of his spine.

“Okay,” Derek says when Stiles pulls away. Stiles blinks his eyes open and meets Derek's.

“Okay?” he asks, his eyes searching again.

“Yes,” Derek says, tugging Stiles in when Stiles flattens a hand over his heart. “It's okay.”

Stiles nods and leans in again, fitting their mouths together. It's almost too intense – the slow drag of Stiles' mouth against Derek's, the slide of his tongue against Derek's lips until he opens with a gasp, the heat of it – and Derek buries his hands in Stiles' hair, unable to stop himself. Not wanting to stop himself.

Stiles' hands slide down Derek's sides and up under his shirt, revealing his skin inch by inch. Stiles' touch is maddening; his fingers skating over Derek's abdomen, chest, pressing into his sides, digging into his waist. Derek raises his arms so that Stiles can tug his shirt off and Stiles stares at him after, fire banking low in his eyes. Derek feels exposed again and he reaches out to Stiles, to pull Stiles' layers apart, to stop Stiles from looking at him like that.

Stiles gasps when their chests brush together and Derek can feel the heat of him now, higher than normal, and knows why Stiles said he was burning. Stiles kisses along his jawline and bites gently at the hinge, making Derek shake. Derek keeps his hands on Stiles' back, dragging them slowly up and down as Stiles shudders against him. Stiles makes his way down Derek's neck to suck a mark into the flesh and Derek's hips jerk up involuntarily. Stiles pulls back and gives him a knowing look.

“You're not the only one with a neck kink,” Derek acknowledges and Stiles rewards him with a steady downward grind of his hips, putting pressure against Derek's steady filling cock.

“It's nice to not be alone,” Stiles says. The flippancy of the words isn't matched by the tone and Derek pulls him close, holds him for a moment.

Stiles sighs when Derek sniffs across his shoulder to the crook of his neck, inhaling all that Stiles is in a few simple breaths. There's a slight note of discord in the scent, probably from the potion, and Derek sets about covering it with his own.

“Werewolves,” Stiles says. Derek can hear Stiles rolling his eyes. Derek shifts to rub his jaw up Stiles' neck and huffs out a laugh when Stiles moans at the rough drag of the stubble.

“Unfair advantage,” Stiles says, pulling away a little and making a face at Derek. “You know I like that.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, grinning. It's probably not a thing he should know – friends shouldn't know how to turn each other on, he thinks (he was never good at friends) – but he does and he employs it to devastating effect.

Stiles skin is red from where he'd rubbed and reddens even more as Derek presses soothing kisses over it. He drags his tongue up the column of Stiles' neck to the hinge of his jaw, briefly burying his nose in the hair behind Stiles' ear.

“Bed, I think,” Stiles says quietly. Derek draws back and looks at him, really looks, at the kiss-red mouth and the dishevelled hair and the flush raised in his cheeks.

Stiles is beautiful. And Derek is increasingly aware of it when he isn't under the influence of the sex magic of the year.

“Sounds good,” he says, swallowing around the sudden rise of feelings in his throat.

Stiles slides off him and stands, holding a hand out. It's an innocent gesture, and an unnecessary one, but Derek takes the hand anyway, letting Stiles pull him up. Stiles doesn't release his hand, leading Derek to his bedroom, and Derek stares at the way their fingers are linked together.

Stiles pushes him back against the bedroom door when it's shut. He pins Derek's shoulders and looks at him again, his tongue licking wetly across his lips. Stiles leans in to kiss him and Derek opens his mouth against the first insistent press of Stiles' tongue. The kiss goes from slow and intent to hot and dirty in the span of a second, one of Stiles' hands twisting fingers into Derek's hair and the other rubbing down over Derek's cock. Derek bucks into the touch and sucks Stiles' tongue into his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles says when he breaks the kiss for air. “You're into it.”

His hand is still moving on Derek's cock so it takes Derek a moment to parse Stiles' meaning. He feels his ears heat up when he gets it and meets Stiles' wondering eyes.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Derek asks, waving at Stiles. “Have you seen yourself? Objectively you're pretty hot.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, his wonderment substituting out for some kind of shock. “You did _not_ just throw my own words back at me!”

“It's true,” Derek says, shrugging one shoulder up. “And, of course, I've had sex with you before. I hear that's crucial.”

“I can't believe you,” Stiles says, laughter bubbling up out of him. “I can't believe this.”

“Is it really that hard to believe I'm okay with this?” Derek asks, sliding a soothing hand up Stiles' side.

“You've pretty much always been the one affected,” Stiles says, his voice going quiet and vulnerable. “I didn't know – I didn't think you'd -”

“Stiles,” Derek brings both hands up to cup Stiles' face. “It's not a hardship. This - _us_ \- it's not a hardship. Not to help you, not to save you. Not ever.”

Words that Derek wouldn't have been able to say if hadn't been for Anya's patient work of years. Stiles' eyes go wide with wonderment again and instead of facing them Derek closes his and presses a chaste kiss to Stiles' mouth. Stiles breathes out against him for a moment and then steps back, tugging him by the waist toward the bed.

They strip the rest of their clothes efficiently and Derek drops onto the bed. Stiles looks at him for a moment; eyes flickering between his still rising cock and his face. He makes a soft sound and leaves the room. Derek lies back and listens to Stiles moving around his bathroom, running the water and collecting things, and lets his eyes drift shut. He moves one hand to his cock and strokes a few times, bringing himself to full hardness in time for Stiles to return.

“Well, that's ridiculously hot,” Stiles says and Derek opens his eyes to see Stiles smirking at him. The heat in his eyes flares and Derek shivers, finally okay with someone looking at him with something like hunger.

“Supplies?” Derek asks, nodding to the armful of stuff Stiles is carrying. He can smell wet cloth and lube.

“I think -” Stiles stops and ducks his head. “I really feel like I should -” he makes a gesture to Derek and then makes a licking motion with his tongue. Derek's whole body flashes hot. “And, you know, hygiene first and all that.”

“That's -” Derek gasps out a breath. “You don't have to do that.”

“I really think I do,” Stiles says, dropping stuff on the bed and kneeling at the end. “If that's okay?”

“That is – that is definitely okay,” Derek says, watching Stiles watching him. “How do you want me?”

“Oh God,” Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, uh, on your front? I don't think I have the strength to lift your heavy ass up.”

“You supported me in a pool for two hours, treading water,” Derek points out, rolling on to his front. He props himself up, pulling his knees up so that his ass raises into the air. Stiles makes a strangled noise. “And that was nearly ten years ago. You're stronger now.”

“One - _oh my God_ ,” Stiles' hands rest on Derek's ass, kneading slightly, and Derek lifts his head so that he can look back at him. “This ass should totally be illegal, just saying. Two – I had the water of the pool to offset all that ridiculous muscle.”

“Just saying,” Derek says, parroting Stiles' words back at him. “I think you could do it.”

“You're a terrible person,” Stiles announces, squeezing Derek's ass. Derek laughs at him and Stiles pulls a face. “Oh, you try coming up with a decent comeback when all you can think about is getting a tongue in that ass.”

He grabs the washcloth and Derek has to bury his face in Stiles' pillow, the pillow he must sleep on because it's loaded with his scent, when he drags it between his buttcheeks. He lets out a low noise of pleasure because he really can't help himself – it's been a long time since someone did this to him and the anticipation is killing him.

When Stiles is satisfied with his cleanliness Derek can feel him moving around, _getting comfortable_ , and then he's spreading Derek open with those long fingers and licking a stripe over Derek's hole.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek breathes out, his whole body trying to go boneless all at once, and he hears Stiles laugh a little, his breath puffing against Derek's skin.

“Oh, you like this?” Stiles asks before licking slowly over him again.

“Asshole,” Derek grinds out as Stiles teases him with slow, long licks. Stiles laughs again before going silent as he sets to work _ruining Derek's life_.

Stiles is seriously, _seriously_ good at this. He traces circles around Derek's hole, ever decreasing, before pointing his tongue and pressing against the tight muscle. Then he does it again. _And again_. Derek's hips move of their own volition, shifting back against Stiles' tongue, and Derek makes wordless noises into the pillow. He moans loudly when Stiles breaches the ring of muscle, the heat of his tongue pushing into Derek and destroying the last vestiges of Derek's self-control. He wants _more_.

“Needy as fuck,” Stiles mutters, pulling away for a moment. Derek catches himself just before he whimpers. “God that's hot.”

He returns with more enthusiasm and it goes from teasing to wet and sloppy in moments. Stiles tongue presses in and out of him, his nose digging into Derek's cleft as he pushes harder, and Derek can't be held responsible for the noises he makes. Stiles turns a hand so that he can slide a fingertip into Derek's hole, licking around it. Derek rocks back, hard, and Stiles moves with him. Derek can't stand it any longer and he gets a hand under himself to pull at his cock, moaning. He pulls in time with Stiles' movements, catching the beading precome leaking from the head of his cock and using it to ease his touch.

Stiles goes back to licking him open and Derek's thinking about just jerking off until he comes all over Stiles' bed, making a mess of it. He forcibly reminds himself that this isn't about him, though, and he pulls away from Stiles' touch when Stiles moves back for air.

“Did I -” Stiles starts and Derek lifts his head to silence him with a look over his shoulder.

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I just – this is for you and if you don't stop I'm going to come.”

Stiles lets out a breath like he's been winded and Derek swears that he sees Stiles' cock twitch at his words. He curls his mouth into a smirk and Stiles shakes his head before rolling his eyes. One day Stiles' eyes are going to roll right out of the sockets. Although, to be fair, and looking back over the years, Derek's in just as much danger of that.

“Do you want to prep yourself or are you okay with me doing it?” Stiles asks. Derek's whole world narrows down to Stiles' long, talented fingers.

“You -” he swallows dryly. “You can do it.”

“Okay,” Stiles exhales, reaching for the lube. Derek's neck is stiffening from the awkward angle he's at but he can't look away, he wants to see this.

He remembers the last time Stiles did this, the first time this ever happened, and how uncertain Stiles had been. Stiles is emphatically not uncertain now. He slicks his fingers quickly and circles his forefinger easily around Derek's hole. He works it in gently and easily and Derek's body responds, rocking back onto it. Derek watches Stiles' face as he works; the way his tongue keeps poking out the corner of his mouth and the concentration on his face. He skates over Derek's prostate and Derek lets out a surprised grunt. Stiles looks up at him and his expression is wicked.

“Yeah,” he says. “That's right. Stiles knows what he's doing now. This is going to be so good.”

It doesn't take him long to work up to a second finger, Derek was already wet and loosened from Stiles' tongue, and he rocks up onto his knees to curve himself over Derek's back. The kiss is awkward owing to the angle but it's heated and awash with need. Derek shudders a little and Stiles pulls away to kiss over the nape of his neck. Derek drops his head forward and concentrates on the feel of Stiles' fingers in him, on the slide of Stiles' mouth over his flesh as he kisses down his spine.

Stiles finds time for three fingers and Derek is feeling stretched open and wanting. He can feel Stiles' cock bump up against him occasionally, hard and leaking, and with a flash of heat he wants it in him. _Right now_.

“Enough,” Derek says even as his hips move back harder. Stiles curls his fingers and Derek's world flashes for a moment. “Fuck me.”

“You can't just say that,” Stiles hisses, his whole body moving forward against Derek's. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Because I mean them,” Derek answers before realising that was probably rhetorical. Stiles laughs and withdraws his fingers.

“Okay Mr Impatient,” he says and Derek can hear him unwrapping a condom. “I was enjoying that but – okay.” Stiles huffs out a breath. “I guess I'll just -”

He stops as he presses the head of his cock against Derek's hole. Derek holds his breath for the brief moment it takes for Stiles' cock to breach the ring of muscle then lets it out slowly as Stiles slides in smoothly. Stiles bottoms out and stays there, breathing heavily, his hands flexing on Derek's hips. He pulls out slightly and rolls his hips on a slow thrust. Derek moans.

“I'll do that,” Stiles says quietly, drawing back again for a longer thrust. Derek moves back again.

Stiles experiments with his rhythm and the length of his strokes, searching for something that Derek can't guess at. He hits the mark for Derek a few times, drawing breathless grunts from him, and Derek gets his hand on his cock again.

Stiles stops, clearly unsatisfied.

“What?” Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. Stiles is frowning, his hands running up and down Derek's sides.

“You think I'm strong,” Stiles says, meeting his eyes. Derek nods. “Okay.”

Stiles leans forward and slides his arms around Derek's waist. Derek raises an eyebrow at him and Stiles exerts backward pressure, urging him back and up. Derek goes with the momentum and feels Stiles shift onto his knees behind him, sitting back on his heels. He spreads Derek's legs by bringing his own together between them and Derek suddenly realises what Stiles wants.

“Wait, wait,” Derek says, reluctantly pulling away from Stiles. Stiles' cock slips out of him and he feels his ass clench around the sudden emptiness.

Derek shuffles forwards until he can grip the top of Stiles' headboard then jerks his head at him. Stiles smiles at him and it's – it's a different smile, impossibly fond, and Derek's heart squeezes in his chest. Stiles moves up behind him, resetting his position, and tugs on Derek's hip with one hand, lining himself up with the other. Derek presses back and down, letting out a low moan when they fit perfectly together.

“Yeah,” Stiles presses a kiss just behind Derek's ear. “That's what I was going for.”

Derek slowly fucks himself on Stiles' cock until Stiles catches his rhythm and matches it. The angle is perfect and Stiles' breath is damp on the back of Derek's neck. Stiles grips his hips and the speed shifts up a gear and Derek's mouth falls open to suck in deep breaths.

“God,” Stiles whispers against his neck. “So good, Derek, so hot and perfect.”

Unspoken emotion ripples through Derek at the words and he just – he can't reply to them so he turns his head awkwardly, seeking out Stiles' mouth. Stiles kisses him open-mouthed and dirty and one of his hands sneaks around to slide over Derek's cock.

“Fuck, _Stiles_ ,” Derek breathes the words into Stiles' mouth. “ _Please_.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, wrapping his still slick fingers around Derek's length. “Yeah.”

He strokes Derek in time with his thrusts and Derek forgets about the stoic front he's supposed to put up. He'd be embarrassed by the noises he's making but Stiles is making them too, an echo chamber of their combined need, and there's no need. He's free here – free to be everything he is – and that's intoxicating.

“Stiles – I -” Derek can feel heat rippling through his body, radiating outward from his cock, and it really won't take much more to make him come.

 _He wants to come_.

“Close,” Stiles mutters, his mouth sliding over Derek's neck again. He sets his teeth at the crook of Derek's neck and Derek's breath catches in his throat.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head to the side and baring his throat. Stiles' breath catches too, his rhythm stuttering.

“Oh, holy God,” Stiles whispers.

He brings his hand up to focus around the head of Derek's cock and snaps his hips up even as Derek moves down against him and then he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin, and Derek's body shudders – his orgasm punches out of him and he _shakes_.

“Fuck,” Stiles' thrusts go off-beat and then he's grinding up into Derek as Derek's still riding the aftershocks. “Fuck, Derek, fuck.”

It seems like it goes on forever, the two of them shaking against each other, and then Stiles' grip slackens and Derek falls forward against the headboard, resting his forehead against the smooth wood. His whole body is tingling and he thinks he might be getting cramp in one of his legs, which hasn't happened for years, and he _never wants to move_. Stiles is draped over his back, his head bent and his mouth resting against Derek's tattoo, and he's tracing patterns into Derek's hip with one finger.

“That was -” Stiles says, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah, it was,” Derek says, agreeing with whatever unspoken superlative Stiles was thinking.

The afterglow is interrupted by Stiles' phone exploding into life in the other room. Stiles groans and shifts back, pulling out. Derek winces briefly and misses the feel of Stiles buried inside him. Derek's phone starts ringing before Stiles can even tie off the condom and Derek sighs, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“We should probably get that,” Stiles says, lobbing the condom at his wastepaper basket. “Probably Scott or Isaac. Most likely both.”

“Yeah,” Derek rubs a hand over his face then pushes to his feet. His legs actually feel unsteady. “You're really good at that.”

It tumbles out of him before he can stop it and Stiles looks at him with surprise edging toward pleasure.

“Well, I mean,” he says, obviously flustered. “The first time we did that I was a virgin, dude. I would hope that I was better years later.”

“You really are,” Derek says, stopping to pick up his boxer-briefs and put them on. “I'm, uh, going to answer my phone.”

“Me too,” Stiles says, not showing any sign of moving. Derek nods at him. Why does this feel like the awkward morning after when it never has before? “Hey – we are okay, right?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, turning in the doorway. “We're always okay.”

Stiles smiles at him, that impossibly fond smile again, and Derek wonders if he even knows what he looks like – fucked out and unreal. It feels a little like fleeing when Derek turns away again. He gets to his phone just before it stops ringing and answers.

“Isaac,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles' still ringing phone and throwing it over his shoulder when he hears Stiles emerge from the room behind him.

“ _Oh, good, you're done. We found the witch._ ”

“One of Morgan's?” Derek asks, because the awkwardness is still itching under his skin and he's spoiling for a fight.

“ _Morgan?!_ ” Stiles' voice rises behind him. “How did you -”

“ _No. Out of towner, I think. He's not talking._ ”

“Of course he's not,” Derek growls, trying not to be distracted by Stiles' conversation. “What are you doing with him?”

“ _Taking him to the depot. We figured that was the best place._ ”

“Good idea,” Derek says. “Why isn't Scott calling?”

“ _Driving_.” That's Scott's voice, Derek must be on speaker. “ _If you guys are done you should come and meet us._ ”

“What do I owe you for this?” Stiles is asking in the background and Derek jerks his head around to look at him. Stiles raises his hand with two fingers out - _two seconds_ \- and Derek idly notices they were the fingers in his ass.

“We'll come to you,” Derek agrees, focusing back on his call. “If you've got it under control?”

“ _Please._ ” Isaac's voice again. “ _We know what we're doing. Are you guys okay?_ ”

“Yeah,” Derek says, listening to Stiles hanging up. “We're good.”

“ _Stiles is -_ ”

“Yeah, he's fine,” Derek says. Stiles comes to lean against he back of the couch.

“ _You know I don't know why you two keep pretending -_ ”

“ _\- Isaac, you said you wouldn't -_ ”

“ _\- it's gone on long enough -_ ” 

“ _Isaac. Please._ ” 

“ _All right. Okay. We'll see you soon, Derek._ ”

“Yeah,” Derek says, a sliver of something cold embedding in his heart. He knows what Isaac was going to say because the scent of Stiles is wrapping around him and he's _happy_. _Safe_. _Free_.

 _Fuck_. So much for avoiding that. Anya will be happy at least.

“Where are they?” Stiles asks, oblivious to the steady crumbling of Derek's interior walls.

“Depot,” he says, grabbing his shirt from the couch. “What did Morgan want?”

“He heard, apparently,” Stiles says, shrugging as he follows Derek back into his room. “Said if we turn the witch over to him that the coven will take care of it.”

“No killing?” Derek asks, pulling his jeans on. Stiles pauses in his own dressing and gives Derek a look.

“No,” he says. “No killing. Turns out sex magic is, and I quote, not to be fucked with. Which is ironic, given what Morgan did to you that one time. There's rules about using it to pick people up, though, and Morgan spoke to this guy's coven leader about it. Apparently there's a thing they can do – strip him of his power.”

“Good,” Derek says, putting his shirt back on. “Let's go.”

Derek tries to squash his feelings down but he can't. Stiles' scent fills up the Camaro and settles him so completely that he can't ignore them. He knows it means they can't do this anymore – he can't tell Stiles how he feels, he can't risk _them_ over it, and he doesn't want to be dishonest about his motives. He can't even tell how Stiles feels about him anymore, they're so tangled up in each other and all the fucked up things they've gone through, that it's the one thing he can't read in Stiles' cues, and he just can't – he can't.

“We can't do this anymore,” he says, eyes fixed on the road.

“What?” Stiles' voice pitches up. “Wait, _did_ I do something wrong? Derek – you promised me you'd make it stop if -”

“No, it's not that,” Derek says, searching for a reason, _any reason_ , that isn't the real one. “It's – I've been thinking. When was your last proper relationship?”

“I -” Stiles goes sour beside him for a moment. “You know when it was. Kerri.”

“Exactly,” Derek says. “That was over a year ago.”

“So?” Stiles asks. “Your last 'proper' relationship was ages ago.”

“This isn't about me,” Derek says, desperately groping for something to say. “I'm a work in progress. But you're not, Stiles, and I can't help but think that maybe – maybe your sense of duty or loyalty is stopping you from -”

“No, wait, back the fuck up,” Stiles is angry now, which is good, Derek can work with that. “You think I fuck you in these situations out of loyalty? I do it because I want to help you.”

“That's the problem,” Derek says, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “How are you ever going to find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with if you have to help me like this?”

“Derek – I -” Stiles makes frustrated noises and hits the dash of the car. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to be happy, Stiles,” Derek says, which _is_ true. “And you can't be if you have to worry about fucking me through something – or the other way around – all the time.”

“You really want to end the arrangement,” Stiles says quietly. It's not a question.

“It's for the best,” Derek says, letting out a breath. “We'll figure something else out. The best supernatural consultant in the country is part of this pack, you know.”

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Stiles says, his voice getting louder as he speaks. “And I think you're lying to me about the reason and that really pisses me off, Derek, because we don't lie to each other. But this whole arrangement is about consent and if you're withdrawing it I'm not going to argue with you.”

“Thank you,” Derek says. Stiles goes silent for the rest of the car ride.

“I just hope,” Stiles says when they get out at the depot, familiar smells tickling Derek's nose. “I just hope one day you can tell me the truth.”

“One day,” Derek agrees.

It's another lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Dub Con: Stiles is dosed with a potion that makes him _need_ to have sex with someone. Verbal consent is given as much as possible.
> 
> Child peril: Stiles is kidnapped along with two werewolf children. The threat is mostly alluded to as the descriptive paragraphs are written in a slightly detached style. One child is grabbed.
> 
> Next up: Life. A is conclusion reached after: a werewolf attack on an innocent is thwarted, someone has a sternly worded talk with someone, some exes appear, OCs get everywhere and the fucking merpeople strike for the final time. So tune in for that.


End file.
